


atlas of bone (fields of muscle)

by SparkleMoose



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Character Study, Da Boys Having Feels Over Noctis' Death, Gen, Heavy Angst, Religious Imagery, Survivors Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 02:08:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19263811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleMoose/pseuds/SparkleMoose
Summary: What good is a Shield when it has naught to defend?What good is the Kings' Hand when there is no King left to serve?What good is a sword when it dulls its edge?





	atlas of bone (fields of muscle)

_Aren’t they, too, the dark carpenters_   
_of your small church? Have they not burned_   
_on the altar of your belly, eaten the bread_   
_of your thighs, broke you to wine, to ichor,_   
_to nectareous feast?_

_Haven’t they riveted your wrists, haven’t they_   
_had you at your knees?_

Natalie Diaz - These Hands (If Not Gods)

* * *

 

 

Gladio prides himself on having an excellent memory. He prides himself on being able to remember before Ignis came into his life, prides himself on being able to recite passages from books he’s read only once and prides himself on being able to copy a stance perfectly after seeing it only once.

That being said, Gladio cannot remember a time when he didn’t know Noctis. He can’t remember a time when he didn’t know his duty. He can’t remember a time before blue eyes smiled up at him and Noctis gave Gladio a piece of his heart. Gladio can’t remember a time he wasn’t willing to die for Noctis.

For his King.

For his home. Because for all that he swore to protect Lucis, for all that Gladio had sworn to protect whoever became its king he had also sworn himself to Noctis. Had sworn himself to a boy with brilliant blue eyes and the future of Lucis on his shoulders first. And in return Noctis had promised to be Gladio’s home, to welcome Gladio into his house and keep a spot by the hearth for him. Noctis had sworn that he would be Gladio’s shelter, a haven where Gladio could put down his sword and rest without fear of being threatened.

And now, at the end of Night, Gladio watches as his king, as his hearth and home walks up the steps leading to his death and Gladio-

Gladio can’t do anything to stop him.

_I love you,_ Gladio thinks as the doors of the Citadel slam shut, _I’ve always loved you_.

* * *

Dawn comes. For the first time in ten years, the suns rays light the sky and a world of night and daemons surrender to her touch.

Dawn comes, and Gladio falls to his knees before the throne where his king sits.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he thinks, staring at the serene face of his king, I was supposed to die first.

Not you.

Never you.

The halls around him remain silent, a calm mockery of the storm wailing in Gladio’s chest. His eyes burn with tears and still he stands.

He stands and walks toward his king.

“I was supposed to go first,” he says, his voice a whisper, “But you were always stubborn when it came to your people weren’t you?”

The corpse of his king doesn’t answer.

Gladio doesn’t expect it to.

* * *

Ignis hates, more than anything, that he can’t see the man he would have died for.

“Prompto,” Ignis asks as he hears Gladio descend the Citadel’s steps. “What does he look like?”

Prompto’s laugh is strained and strange.

“Peaceful,” Prompto says, and Ignis can almost see the tears on the blondes face, “Like he’s sleeping.” And Ignis-

Ignis wants to scream. He can't remember Noctis' face, can barely remember his Kings' voice and it wasn't supposed to end like this.

_No,_ he thinks, _No it wasn't supposed to end like this. You're my King._

_I love you._

* * *

When they were young, Prompto didn't think Noctis would ever die. Didn't think his friend, his Prince, his King, would ever meet his end at the hands of a blade or gun.  Noctis had seemed invincible in those early days, as though he could take on the world and live to tell the tale.

Now Prompto listens to people call Noctis a martyr and he wants to scream-

_Where were you when he needed you? You of little faith, you who thought he left us as daemon fodder. You who spat on his name and cried out traitor. Who are you to mourn now? Who are you to mourn now that my King is gone? How dare you-_ And Prompto has to stop himself from lashing out, has to stop his tears from turning to rage. He has to remind himself that these are the people Noctis gave his life for.

That these are the people Noctis would want him to protect.

But it's hard. Hard to believe in the goodness of those around him when Prompto has seen them at their worst. It's hard to think to smile at them and it's harder to protect them when he remembers them smearing Noctis' name through the mud.

_You should have let them die,_ Prompto thinks and feels guilty for it, _Then at least I'd still have you_.

It's not true though is it? Noctis would have always died.

And Prompto would always be left alone.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> sup im moose and i have dem chocobros feels have a thing


End file.
